


Brink

by CapnJack



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Emma to the Rescue, F/M, Neverland (Once Upon a Time), Neverland Renaissance, Save Henry, Season 1 Compliant, cs au week, with a dashing rapscallion still set on his revenge to offer his services
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-16
Updated: 2017-03-27
Packaged: 2018-07-24 09:12:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 17,683
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7502625
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CapnJack/pseuds/CapnJack
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>But this woman was neither mermaid nor Brave, radiant but fierce — and the cool touch of steel to his skin reminded him of the sword she had pointed at his throat.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>“My name is Emma Swan,” she said, in answer to the question he had yet to give voice to, “and I’m here for my son.”</i>
</p><p>Season 2 Canon Divergence; Hook never escaped Neverland, and once the curse breaks Pan comes to collect the loneliest lost boy of them all - the one in possession of the Heart of the Truest Believer. For day 2 of CS AU Week.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A multi-chapter, woo! My first attempt at writing in-universe. I've been working on this for a while before being reliably informed that it'd fit in well with CS AU Week over on tumblr - so here it is for day 2! Mostly I just loved the Neverland arc and here’s a different take on it. AU pretty much from the moment the curse breaks, but with some borrowed pieces of dialogue. I hope you guys like it, and let me know what you thought!

_(so I’m a prisoner because you love me, that’s not fair)_

A slither of moonlight trickled in through the panelled glass, tendrils dirty white and shapeless that painted silver shadows across the floor. The midnight blue of the curtains drifted, carried from the frame by the winds of another world, beckoning and whispering with the hushed softness of silk. The bedroom contained only one bed, an old quilt well-loved and faded already thrown backwards, entirely vacant of its usual occupant. The boy’s bare feet crept across the carpeted floor, throwing furtive looks over his shoulder as he stepped into the pale light, watching his shadow extend from his heels all the way to the opposite wall of the room, a looming shape that made him want to sprint back into the darkness. The single night light had long since gone out.

This wasn’t the first night he’d heard the music, floating through the cracks in the walls, tapping its way across his subconscious while he slept. It was such a mournful song, as if the notes were pulled from that place inside his heart where his deepest grief resided; it spoke of soft things, like home and courage and great games that would never end. Trapped inside this tiny bedroom, he longed to find its source more than anything. Tonight he was sure he finally would.

_(you made it so no one believed me, you made me feel like I was crazy)_

With trembling hands the boy reached for the latch, turning it once with a wooden _creak_ that disturbed the stillness of the room. He paused to glance at the door but it remained exactly where it was, so he returned to his task. The window had always been light and it took little effort to lift it, pushing the panel up towards the ceiling. 

Cold air whooshed in from the outside and he felt compelled to take a step back, but all the same a smile lit up his face as he felt more than heard the sorrowful melody fill the room. It tingled in the tips of his fingers, made his hair stand up on end and pulled at his heart unlike anything he’d ever felt before. Magic illuminated the bedroom, flickering starry shapes and crescent wonders across the walls and the boy giggled. Although the window was open he could hear nothing of the street below, none of the modern sounds or artificial lights he would have expected; the only chatter came from the stars and the flute and the moon loomed so close he felt he could reach out and touch it.

_(how long am I in prison? while I grow up?)_

The boy darted forward, right to the edge of the sill, and tried to do just that. His arm outstretched, he uttered a soft prayer. 

“I believe,” he whispered to the moon.

_(I won’t grow up, I won't)_

Then the shadow came to take him.

***

Dawn broke over Neverland with its usual chorus, the distant wail of the Neverbird rising above the tree cover as melancholic and as desperate as it had been every day since the Lost Ones had kidnapped and butchered the young in her nest for sport. How they could wake every morning to a sound as lugubrious as that and still rejoice in the endless quests and pointless tasks He set about for them was entirely beyond Hook’s comprehension. He had learned long ago not to question the land dwellers, reducing his contact with them to skirmishes when they were unavoidable and the necessary trade with the natives in order to ensure his crew’s survival, but other than that he kept to his ship as much as possible. 

It was the least he could do until he could find a way _off_ this accursed island. 

Irony must have had a part to play in his discovering how to defeat the Dark One only a few months into his arrival in Neverland for the second time, and with no magic bean nor enchanted sail to secure passage back to the Enchanted Forest, his revenge felt just as tantalizingly out of reach as it had felt the day he’d plunged a hook into the crocodile’s chest. That was centuries ago now, surely. When the years had slipped into decades and he’d entered a steady arrangement with Him which seemed evermore inescapable, he had stopped keeping track. 

Brushing through the undergrowth, the cry of the Neverbird continued to bear down on the landing party, casting a bleak mood onto their already discomfited countenances; Hook hated to spend the night inland, but they had little choice once the storm had hit the night before. If they hadn’t taken shelter they would’ve been overrun by the tempest before they could even make it halfway back to the Jolly Roger. It had been a simple scouting run, one He was probably aware of, and had made it His business to detain them through some great game that only ever entertained Him. Water still clung to the jungle, dripping down onto them from the canopy as their boots sludged through the plants underfoot. Hook had elected only to bring Smee and Starkey, his boatswain and first mate being the two whose counsel he valued above the rest of his crew. It wasn’t a matter of trust — every man aboard the Jolly Roger had sworn off their King for him, had followed him to Neverland without question in his pursuit of revenge even as their lives extended to centuries traversing the same waters. 

No, Hook trusted every member of his crew with his life. But only Smee and Starkey with the innermost workings of his mind.

With his hook he held the lantern aloft, keeping his eyes trained on the jungle before him in case they were set upon by scouts from the Lost Ones camp. They could seemingly fade into the trees, arising from the shadows like spectres of youth, courageous and cruel in their pursuit of fun and games, the perfect little lackeys for Him. The princess of the native tribe had once told him they were the souls lured to the island by a flute played by their leader Himself, that only those who felt unloved or abandoned could hear it.

Hook had wondered, often, if Baelfire had heard it. He supposed he must have.

It had been many years since he’d last seen the boy, a few decades perhaps. The last he knew Baelfire had finally broken free from His clutches, finding himself a hidden hovel on the island as he remained on the run — a cave Hook had stumbled across himself while seeking Tinkerbell. His first thought had been to the ache in his chest at the idea of the boy living by himself after a century or so in the company of the other boys, through all of it he must have retained his good heart. His second thought had been one of horror; if he could find where Bae rested his head at night, then certainly so could Pan. 

Baelfire hadn’t been seen for some time, not by him nor any of his crew. There were only two ways that particular story could have ended — his escape from the island, or death. And given, in Hook’s experience at least, nobody left Neverland without His permission he harboured serious doubts for the former. The latter just appeared too distressing to even consider. Hook tried not to let his thoughts linger on Baelfire’s fate, it did him no favours. 

“Won’t _somebody_ silence that dastardly creature?” Starkey snapped, the howl of the Neverbird apparently finally withering his patience. As the most impeccably mannered of all aboard his ship, including the Captain, Hook was surprised at the outburst.

Usually the clamour of the childless mother weren’t so discernible out at sea, but landlubbers were entirely at its mercy. 

“Patience, Starkey,” Hook warned, “let her cry. It’s the most any of us can do.”

“Can’t she mourn a little quieter?” muttered Smee, holding his own lantern up to his round face. “It’s been months already, can’t she get over it?”

Hook halted in his stride, so suddenly Smee bumped right into him. A jolt of anger climbing from his gut he whirled around, lantern swinging, causing his boatswain to duck out of the way. 

“And what is it you’re implying, Mister Smee?”

“Oh no, Captain, I didn’t mean —”

Hook hissed. “Didn’t mean what? To place an expiry date on grief? Loss?” Smee shook his head mutely, eyes flickering to the hook in place of his left hand brandishing the lantern like a trophy. “Perhaps you feel my own quest for revenge to be ill-judged and baseless, is that what you mean to suggest?”

“Leave him, Captain,” Starkey placed a hesitant hand on the hook, urging him to lower it as carefully as he could. “We’re — we’re all tired. I’m sure Mister Smee is scarcely aware of what he’s saying, sleepless as he is.”

Hook’s gaze remained hard, but he allowed his first mate to move his hook away from the potential to deal out immediate harm. “Mister Smee would do well to watch his tongue, even while he dreams. Lest he wake up one morning with it cut clean from his blubbering mouth.”

Smee’s eyes widened as he nodded, emitting the barest squeak. Satisfied he had intimidated the pirate back into his meagre submission, Hook resumed his path through the jungle back to the shore. He attempted to push down the raw fury he had felt spike within him, but he knew he wasn’t merely angry at Smee (if indeed at all) — it was the entire situation that had him so frustrated, that he possessed the knowledge to rid all the worlds of the Dark One and yet it had still been _centuries_ since the day his heart had been ripped from him. 

_Get over it_ , indeed.

As if grief were something one could ever gain mastery over. As if scars ever truly faded.

The Neverbird’s mournful song finally concluded, and silence settled over the island once more.

A few minutes further into their journey and Hook was certain they were no longer alone. It was that familiar prickling sensation at the base of his spine, that distinct sensation of being observed that he had honed and sharpened over centuries of traversing these woods stalked by the Lost Ones, the Indians and worse. Neverland had always been a place fraught with danger, and he was by now well in tuned with the shifts in its atmosphere. Any Captain worth his salt knew when a storm was brewing, and the change in the breeze around him alerted him instantly.

“I don’t want to alarm you, gentlemen,” he murmured over his shoulder, “but I fear we are being hunted.”

Suddenly, the bushes to the right of him burst open and a figure sprung forth — they were a lot closer than he had thought, to give them credit, and they had perhaps overheard his warning to his men and realised they no longer possessed the element of surprise. Hook let the lantern drop to his feet as he made to draw his sword but he wasn’t quick enough, feeling the prick of a blade at his neck causing him to still his movements. Behind him, Smee and Starkey had managed to raise their swords, but hesitated when they realised their captain’s compromised position.

Hook took this opportunity to observe his assailant, and was astounded to discover they weren’t a Lost One at all — in fact, his foe wasn’t even a _man_ , let alone a boy. All wavy locks of blonde hair and hard green eyes, the woman’s mouth was set into a thin line as she surveyed all three of them in a calculated manner. He could feel his mouth go dry at the sight of her, dressed only in garments of unfamiliar materials that clung to her voluptuous curves yet left her arms bare, a small satchel of some kind slung over her shoulder. It wasn’t that Hook was unused to seeing the form of a woman, within the native tribe the women were oft considered the superior hunters, and mermaids haunted at every locale the water could reach with their bewitching smiles, exquisite beauty and tempting songs, ready to lure any heedless sailor to his death. 

But this woman was neither mermaid nor Brave, radiant but fierce — and the cool touch of steel to his skin reminded him of the sword she had pointed at his throat. 

“My name is Emma Swan,” she said, in answer to the question he had yet to give voice to, “and I’m here for my son.”

Hook’s gaze darted from her eyes to the blade; there was no way to assess her swordsmanship, uncertain was he if she would be able to react quick enough if he ducked and tackled her, but her arm didn’t shake — that had to mean something. The sword she was carrying was a long sword, not entirely unlike one he would expect to find in the possession of a knight, and her posture remained steady as she pressed it against his neck. 

His tongue darted out to wet his lips. “Well, Emma Swan, many a lad has washed up on Neverland’s shores. None are ever reclaimed.”

The tip of the steel pressed further into his neck and he winced. He heard the shuffle of Smee and Starkey behind him.

“His name is Henry. Just tell me if you’ve seen him, yes or no.”

Hook knew the names of very few of the Lost Ones; Pan, Felix, Rufio. The name of every boy who had met a tragic end by his hook. Henry was entirely unfamiliar, and appeared far too polite for an island as barbaric as their home. Still, he wasn’t one to reveal his cards so early, and this woman’s presence intrigued him. 

“And what if I have?”

The woman’s narrowed gaze was unrelenting. “If you have, you’ll take me to him or I’ll stick you with the pointy end of this, got it?”

A smirk pulled the corner of his mouth upwards. “Fortune favours us both, then.” The lie fell easily from his lips. “If you’d kindly lower your blade I’ll escort you straight to your boy.”

Emma Swan made no move to do as he requested, pupils darting back and forth between his eyes as she adjusted her grip on her sword. Hook felt the distinct sensation of being analysed, and waited patiently for her verdict. “I’m going to let you in on a little secret,” she said instead, and Hook’s eyebrows rose, “I’m pretty good at knowing when someone is lying to me.”

He sighed, knowing his bluff had been called. “I wouldn’t give yourself any medals for that one, love,” Hook replied. “I’m a pirate. And you have me at sword point.” His hand moved to gesture to the weapon and Emma Swan increased the pressure for just a moment. Hook let his expression slip into something a little sultrier as he surveyed her, letting his gaze travel all the way from her shapely legs up to her chest, then her stern expression. “There’s nothing I wouldn’t say, should you so bid me.”

Emma Swan made a snap decision then, taking a step back but keeping her sword brandished in front of her. Hook let out a breath of relief as the pressure on his neck disappeared, and his hand went immediately to the hilt of his own cutlass, though he didn’t draw it yet. 

“You’re wasting my time,” she muttered, emerald eyes darting quickly between the three pirates. 

“Am I?” Hook mused. “I’d wager your lad has taken up with the Lost Ones.” 

Something flickered across her expression for a moment there, something he would have likened to disbelief did it not so quickly surrender to something else — resignation. “The Lost Boys? Seriously?”

“If you could call them boys,” he shot back darkly, “savages, all. I’d be surprised if they hadn’t beaten the humanity out of your boy by now.” 

Emma Swan’s expression hardened. “He’s only been here a day.”

“All it takes.” Hook took a step forward and the woman raised her blade threateningly, eyes darting down to his side and widening as they finally seemed to acknowledge his hook. He took a modicum of satisfaction in that. “Time runs differently here. A day in your world may equate to much longer on this island, I assure you.” A sort of puzzled curiosity furrowed his brow. “And just where is it you hail from, Emma Swan?” 

Emma Swan gave no reply, taking a few steps further back along the path. “If you can’t help me you better stay the hell out of my way.” 

Hook merely tilted his head in the mimic of a bow, touching two fingers to his brow in salute. “As you wish.”

With one final glance at the trio, Emma Swan lowered her sword and darted back into the undergrowth, sprinting away from them as if she were imagining they might pursue her. A deadly silence settled on the three pirates, all watching her retreat with considerable interest even if it stemmed from different places — Hook’s, an unashamed place of desire and curiosity, and a glance at Starkey and Smee informed him they were watching after her with something akin to wonder. Another spike of irritation shot through him as he thought of their observing her, as if she were some great secret not meant for their eyes. He could understand their surprise, though. Hook had meant what he’d said about the Lost Ones; it wasn’t that mothers never came _to_ reclaim their lost sons, it was only that none ever succeeded. He couldn’t remember seeing any who had ever made it to the jungle. 

Hook ducked to retrieve his fallen lantern, and it appeared to shake his men back to the present. 

“Was that a — a mother?” Starkey breathed, sheathing his sword as he did so. 

“It appears so,” Hook replied carefully, “a mother outside the Maze of Regrets. Extraordinary.” 

“Captain,” Smee’s hand immediately clutched at his upper arm in urgency, “she’s heading straight into tribal territory. Shouldn’t we — warn her?” 

Starkey made a doubtful noise, turning back in the direction of the shore. “She has a considerable lead on us, Captain. We’d be lucky to catch her before the Braves do.”

The options wrestled inside of him for a moment, but he knew what he would decide long before he even began considering it. Liam’s influence over him had been irrepressible in most things, after all. The differences between foul and fair play, good form and bad form. 

It was bad form to allow a woman to wander unknowingly to what could be her death. 

Without another second’s thought, Hook pressed his lantern into Smee’s chest, who was given no other choice than to take it. 

“Head back to the ship, mates. Inform the crew I have added business to attend to inland.” He whirled around, pressing his hook in the bare space between their nervous faces. “And breathe a word to anyone about our unexpected visitor, expect to be tossed to the mermaids upon my return.” The last thing he needed was his men turning aggressive and red-blooded at the thought of a woman in Neverland aside from those that usually tried to kill them.

“Yes Captain.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it, Captain.” 

Hook shirked his outer coat, handing it to Starkey. If he was to be running after a madwoman he would need to be light on his feet. “And by all the gods, look after the damn thing.” 

After checking only to make sure his sword was at his side, Hook took off into the jungle in pursuit.

***

Breaking the curse had to be the worst thing she had ever done. 

While at first that thought had incurred some kind of guilt within her, especially when she’d given the musing a voice and had seen the look of hurt that flickered across David and Mary Margaret’s expressions, their True Love restored in the wake of their returned memories. Especially when they wanted to talk to her about them being their _long lost daughter_ , a fact she was still _sorely_ trying to come to terms with, especially since she and Mary Margaret had discussed sex, adultery and everything in between that she definitely never imagined talking to a mother figure about — particularly one actually the same age as her and one who went by _Snow White_ in casual conversation.

But all of that was just — supplementary. The curse breaking had been good for them, for their reunited family, as tricky as it was. What Emma had lost in that polychromatic burst of magic as she kissed Henry’s forehead was the only thing that mattered to her at all in the world. 

Henry. Her _son_. 

When the thick purple cloud had overtaken Storybrooke, it hadn’t taken long for Regina to regain mastery over her powers. She had grabbed Henry while the town was still waking up and hidden him away in their home, guarding it with hundreds of powerful spells that not even Gold could break — and he had wanted to. Eager to set about dealing his _own_ revenge against the Evil Queen (something about a woman named Belle, Beauty if Emma’s memory served, and seeing him as the _Beast_ was probably the most believable thing about all this fairy-tale crap) his efforts had been relentless, but Regina’s power, buoyed by her love for Henry, had kept the walls fast. No matter how many times Emma had demanded to see him and, she hoped, he had demanded to see her, Regina refused to allow anybody entrance to the Mayor’s house. Emma was inconsolable. She didn’t have time for the family reunions David and Mary Margaret wanted so badly when the only family she cared about was trapped on the other side of those marble pillars. 

Henry deserved more than this. At least while under the curse she had been able to see him, spend time with him. Make him laugh and buy him hot cocoa with cinnamon and brush his hair from his eyes. 

(But of course she wouldn’t take it back. Henry had flat lined, had been dead on the table until she kissed him.

As fate would have it, she didn’t get to keep Henry either way.) 

The stalemate had lasted for weeks, their constant bombarding on Regina’s home growing only more ineffectual, and they were all running out of ideas.

That was the day Regina had opened the door. Eyes red-rimmed and clutching his scarf, Emma had known immediately something was wrong. Everything had blurred into white noise after that. 

Some kind of magic had broken through her wards, something even more powerful than Gold. Regina had awoken that morning to Henry’s bed empty, quilt pushed back and his window wide open, curtains swishing in the breeze the outside brought. She had first assumed it must have been the heroes that had done it, ‘stolen’ him from her in the night, but nobody in Storybrooke had seen him — that day passed in a flurried panic of activity, of desperation, until Gold’s cane had whacked the floor of the manor and he had come with his own suspicions of what had taken the boy.

Since she was apparently the daughter of Snow White and Prince Charming, it shouldn’t have taken her so long to come around to the idea that _Neverland_ was real as well. And Peter Pan too, the Pied Piper of Hamelin, who played the softest melody that only the loneliest, lost children could hear as he lured them from their beds; it was a far cry from little boys falling out of their prams, but Emma would believe anything if it could lead to getting her son back. 

At first she had assumed Gold was helping them out of some sense of duty after weeks of being tentative allies, but she quickly realised it wasn’t that at all that kept the words flowing from his smirk — it was the way Regina continued to crumple in on herself, Henry’s scarf pressed to her mouth as she tried to resist the emotion shaking her shoulders as he reiterated _just how lonely_ , and _just how unloved_ Henry must have been feeling in order to hear the pipe of the Piper. This was Rumpelstiltskin’s revenge, or at least part of it.

It made Emma’s heart ache to consider it. Her Henry, her smiling Henry, alone in his room and feeling so desperately sad he allowed himself to be carried to another land. But she’d be lying if she denied a dark part of her also roiled in satisfaction at the fact that Regina’s imprisonment of him had been entirely unwelcome. In her darkest moments she had considered the possibility of Henry staying because he _wanted_ to. Because Regina with all her magic might have been the mother he had always wanted, the fairy-tale character; they might have started living a happy life in a world of their own, closed off from the mother who had given him away before he had even been born.

But Henry hadn’t been happy, not at all. 

And now he was in freaking _Neverland_. 

Barely an hour of planning and they were all working together now, heroes, villains, in an attempt to bring the lost boy home — Regina emerged with a hat Emma recognised to be Jefferson’s, the madman from the outskirts of town, although the mayor claimed she had no idea who he was. There was only enough magic left in it to transport two of them there, and there was no way in _hell_ Emma was letting Regina do this on her own, so the pair had jumped into the violet vortex the hat had summoned together. Or so she’d thought, at least. 

Emma had crashed into solid ground alone, no sign of Regina nor Jefferson’s hat. For a while she was convinced she had been set up, thrown into another world while Henry’s adoptive mother continued her rescue mission alone — she had no freaking idea what Neverland looked like after all, except in the Disney picture she had watched when she was a kid. 

But that was _animated_. And she wasn’t _six_ anymore.

Emma had walked for what felt like hours, brandishing her father’s sword and cutting through the undergrowth in the hopes she might come across someone — hell, at this point she’d be happy to see _Regina_ , her magic could probably do wonders for clearing a path through the goddamn jungle. By the time she’d heard voices it was all she could do to track them through the forest, and she’d been discovered in under five minutes. Emma had hoped they might be able to help her, or at least push her in the right direction, but she’d gotten one good look at the _hook_ in place of the first's left hand and realised she might be addressing the eponymous Captain from the well-loved children’s fable, distinctly lacking in perms or wax moustaches, and she _noped_ the crap out of there as fast as she could. 

Trust the first person she came across in Neverland to be _Captain Hook_. An unfairly attractive, rugged, would-fuck-in-another-life version at that. 

Speaking of, what the hell _was_ her life?

Henry. Henry was her life. And she had to find him. At least Captain Noshave’s presence confirmed she was actually _in_ Neverland, even if she still had no clue what had happened to Queen Sensible Pantsuit.

Truthfully, Emma had no idea where she was nor where she was going; she’d been dropped in the middle of the jungle and had found only jungle thereafter, but the way she saw it an imaginary island couldn’t be so big, could it? It could be just like New York. Dense, not large, and with just as many pirates — in her world they just called them stockbrokers. She’d long since slowed her pace, it’d do no good to burnout before she even found Henry (and she was expecting a fight to get him back), but ever since she had she couldn’t shake the prickly feeling at the back of her neck like she was being watched. 

Only a short time ago _she_ had been the one stalking the pirates clattering through the forest, and now she was certain she was the one being hunted. Emma quickened her pace, her grasp on the hilt of David’s sword tightening, constantly throwing glances over her shoulder as if she expected some ticking crocodile to come crawling through the shrubbery. _This was ridiculous_. But Captain Amputee had said the Lost Boys were savages, a far cry from the stories she was familiar with, and even though his role as their sworn enemy hardly made him a reliable source, she would be on her guard. Ever since Henry had eaten that apple turnover she’d had a crash course in all-is-not-as-it-seems where fairy-tales were concerned, anyway. 

While Emma kept glancing behind her, it turned out she really should have been watching the jungle in front of her. 

Jumping right into her path, Emma nearly stumbled in surprise as she recognised the by now familiar figure cutting her off, even if he lacked the heavy coat. Hook. His chest was heaving, as if he’d been sprinting in order to get to her and the idea unnerved her. Although, in order to get in front of her as he had he’d probably been moving considerably faster than she’d been going. 

She raised her sword again. “What the hell are _you_ doing here?”

He appeared unperturbed by her ire, merely stood regaining his breath with his hand resting on the hilt of his own sword, likely in case she took a swing at him. “ _Rescuing you_ , lass. You’re venturing into dangerous territory here.” 

“Yeah? I’m guessing the dangerous part is where I’ll find my son, right?”

In a surprisingly quick movement, his hook made contact with her blade and forced her to lower it as he took a step forward, voice turning low and urgent. “This is the natives' favourite hunting ground. If you’re not careful you’ll be the Panther’s prisoner before you’ve even made it within ten miles of your lad.” 

Emma huffed out a breath, letting the blade drop to her side. “I’ve slayed a dragon, I’m pretty sure I can handle a few people with pointy—” 

“Would you _keep your voice down_ ,” he hissed, throwing a cautious glance to the wilderness surrounding them. “You're new to this land, you have no idea who you’re dealing with.” Emma had been about to bite a retort when they were interrupted. A few rustles sounded from behind them and Hook darted back, pulling out his sword in a defensive manner which Emma mirrored. Whatever he had seen or heard, the look of fear she had managed to capture a brief glance of was enough for warning klaxons to start sounding in her mind. And so they should.

Like shadows melting from the brush, Emma watched with horror as figures stepped out of the undergrowth as if they were built from the souls of trees.

“Your assertions are correct, Captain,” a woman’s voice, steady and low came from above them, "you have no idea who you are dealing with." Perched on a branch not a few feet above them, Emma’s gaze rose to meet glinting, dark eyes ringed by red ochre staring back at her. Tanned of skin and dark of hair, this woman leapt from the tree to stand before them. Her legs and arms thick with muscle, she looked like she could deal a reasonable amount of damage with the small axe she had clamped in her right hand, and two long braids hung low past her waist, raven black but peppered with spots of colour in the form of beads and strands of thread.

“Wonderful,” Hook let out a hushed string of expletives Emma wondered if she was supposed to hear. “Now we’re _both_ their prisoner. Job well done, Emma Swan.”

God, she _just_ wanted her son back.

Standing back-to-back with Captain Goddamn _Hook_ with swords raised, surrounded by an advancing tribe of warriors did _not_ factor into her in-grab-out game plan. 

At all. 

_Shit_.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and here's chapter two! a longer time coming than I would have liked, but there we are. I'd love to hear what you guys think!

“I don’t believe I ever actually introduced myself.”

Emma’s eyes rolled skyward, cursing whatever damn deity presided over Neverland that she’d managed to trap herself in this situation — with _Captain Hook_ , no less. Hands bound in front of her, she was being tugged forward alongside Hook through the drudging undergrowth, the humidity increasing the higher the sun climbed through the sky. When the hat had deposited Emma in the jungle it had been an hour or so before the break of dawn and she hadn’t yet fully appreciated how warm the island could get, but the further the pair of them were dragged through the forest the more she was beginning to get the idea. She wished she had some kind of hair tie so she could pull her hair away from her sweaty neck, but that was the least of her problems. 

One glance from Hook had told her it would be useless to try and fight her way out of the advancing warriors, so she’d surrendered her sword to her chagrin at the same time he had, and allowed her hands to be tied by the stronger female who had first spoken to them. This capture had been conducted in silence aside from the woman informing her they would be taken back to their camp, and Emma was conscious of several pairs of eyes resting stonily on her, mute and threatening as some of them shrunk back into the bush. 

It had all been going _fine_ until Captain Guyliner had gotten involved. She needed to find _Henry_ , and it was a panic that fluttered from her heart to her throat repeatedly when she thought of all the time she was losing, the danger she was in. If she couldn’t look after herself for barely a few hours, how was she supposed to find her son?

And where the _crap_ was Regina?

“Don’t waste your breath,” Emma sighed, “Captain Hook, right?”

She was hyper-aware of every one of the natives listening into their conversation, but they showed no reaction to Hook and Emma finally speaking to each other. 

Her dry remark earned herself a smug smile from the direction of her fellow prisoner. “Ah, so you’ve heard of me.” 

Emma wanted to bite back something about wax moustaches and hook noses just to wipe the satisfaction from his face, but launching into some discussion about Disney’s Peter Pan was some fourth-wall-smashing-shit she did not feel like dragging herself into. Talking about Dustin Hoffman or Jason Isaacs to the _real_ Captain Hook would be just… too weird. So she chose not to dignify his comment with a response — instead, she tried to take advantage of him while his proximity remained. He was a veteran of the island, after all, and he appeared familiar with at least some of the customs of their captors. 

“So how’s this going to work, anyway?” she continued, throwing furtive looks at the man holding the edge of the rope tied to her hands, pulling her along behind him. “This being their prisoner… thing. How do we get away?”

“We don’t,” Hook mused, “unless they permit us.” 

Emma resisted the urge to let out a frustrated sound. “Alright, _fine_. How do we get them to _permit_ us?” She coloured _permit_ with her best imitation of his accent, a poor one that he graced only with an irked side-along glance.

“If we’re fortunate they will take us before their chief, and we may be granted the opportunity to plead our case.” Emma bit back a remark about there being nothing _our_ about it. “If not, they will likely set us straight to work. There is no shortage of labour in the Neverplains. Luckily for you,” he added brightly, “you have me.” 

“Huh. Wasn’t the word I was thinking of.” 

Hook acted as if she hadn’t spoken. “I have — something of a rapport with the chief’s daughter,” he waved his hand as best his bound wrists would allow, “I am certain I can negotiate our freedom simply enough.”

Emma sighed heavily. This was _ridiculous_ , and she uttered as much. “This is a waste of time. I need to be looking for my son.” She turned her attention to the woman standing nearest her and tugged on her binding. The rope dug painfully into the thin skin of her wrists, leaving angry red welts. “D’you hear that?” she spoke louder, pulling up as close to her as she could. “My son is Pan’s prisoner and I need to get him back. Would you _just_ let me—” The woman’s arm reached towards her in a flash of movement and she found herself pushed backwards, stumbling sideways into Hook. 

“It’s useless, Swan,” he snapped, once he’d righted himself. “You see the four strokes on their wrists?” Hook gestured to the wrist of the man standing before them, four red marks wrapping around his forearm; they looked to be done with some kind of paint, or perhaps they were scars. Emma couldn’t make it out. “These Braves are from the Panther’s inner circle. The most heartless in the tribe, trained to fight as soon as they are able. You’ll get no empathy from them.”

Emma groaned, wanting entirely to shove him into their captors on the other side. “I don’t think there’s any way I can express _just how uninterested_ I am.” She didn’t care about native trivia, about Panthers or prisoners or anything that wasn’t finding Henry and bringing him home. Emma didn’t want to learn about freaking _Neverland_ , she didn’t want to be here another day while her son believed nobody cared for him and he was all alone. What she needed was an escape plan, and then an exit strategy for she and Henry — as long as Regina remained AWOL, so did Jefferson’s hat. There had to be some other way off the island and back to Storybrooke. The real world, where they both belonged. 

“You care for him deeply, don’t you?” Hook’s musings interrupted her thoughts. “Your boy.”

“I’m his mother,” she retorted. Of _course_ she cared for him deeply.

Hook shook his head. “It’s more than that.” Emma arched an eyebrow and he let out a breath of laughter, eyes turning straight ahead again. “You’re something of an open book, love.”

She let out a disbelieving snort. “Am I?”

“Aye,” he said, “you don’t want to forsake him — that’s natural, of course. You don’t want to abandon him the way _you_ were abandoned.”

There was something in the timbre of voice that was almost — mocking. Like any sympathy dripping from his lips was entirely false. Emma looked up sharply to find him staring at her behind ice blue eyes, as if he were looking right through her. It was unnerving enough for her to forget for a few moments that she was eye to eye with Captain Hook, and not just another man from her world preening like a peacock because he was sure he had her down pat. He’d known her for less than two hours — there was no chance anything he’d said was drawn from any real perception. He was confident enough in his assessment, though, and Emma didn’t have to work very hard to know she was giving little away in her answering expression. She’d perfected her mask of indifference long ago.

“Was I?” She arched an eyebrow.

“Like I say,” Hook shrugged once, the corner of his mouth turning upwards, “open book.” 

He was making a generalised statement and she was playing into it, that was all. She just had to not. “Yeah? And how would you know that?”

In answer he merely raised his bound hands, making a show of looking around. “This is Neverland, love. The _home_ of the Lost Ones. They all share that same look in their eyes.” He started at her then, hard. “The look you get when you’ve been left alone.” 

The response was penetrative, and a little too close to home. As she watched him, tongue fumbling for a response, her foot caught on a protruding root and she stumbled forwards, breaking whatever bizarre tension he had been steadily luring her under. This was a fairy-tale character, a caricature; he didn’t know _anything_ about her. He was just making things up under the guise of intuition to impress her. Or spook her, and she wasn’t sure which was worse. And given she was already trapped in an unfamiliar land with no way of either finding her son or getting home, the last thing she needed was to let any of the inhabitants get any foothold in knowing who she really was. For all she knew, Hook was still a villain here. Just because Evil Queens could be mothers and Beasts could love didn’t mean pirates weren’t still thieves ready to pillage, plunder and leave you for dead. 

Emma took a mental step back. “Okay, buddy.” 

Hook’s eyes narrowed. “You believe I’m merely posturing.”

“I think you’ve known me for point five seconds and are making a lot of grand sweeping statements,” she said neutrally. “Maybe set that brain of yours on something productive and think us a way out of this.”

To his credit, the man withdrew, although Emma had no evidence to suggest it was at her urgings. His head turned back to the front and his eyes dropped to his boots, back to watching his step as they continued to travel westwards. 

“I told you,” he added mildly, “it’s no use.” 

For the first time since the leader of the group of hunters had bound Emma’s wrists together, another of the natives spoke up as they were pulled to a stop. “He speaks truly,” the man in front of them got out, his voice deep and melodious. “It is no use. Come.”

A few heavily laden branches were lifted from the path in front of them, revealing a flurry of activity behind them — they’d arrived at the camp. 

Emma and Hook were pulled right into the throng, into something that resembled a small village. Hundreds of deep brown tipis littered the path, likely constructed from animal pelts and cut down trees. Given in all her time in Neverland Emma had only seen the three pirates and the eight warriors who had captured her, the sudden exposure of hundreds of people was something of a shock to the system. They were tugged past villagers in troupes, gathered around small fires built under cooking equipment or stacks of weaponry, men and women alike taking stacks of flint to small, curved blades and scraping them back and forth. It was an assault of noise, chatter and the clashing of steel, surprising in the wake of the hunters’ silence the whole time they’d walked west.

Most lifted their heads to survey the intruders as they were pulled past. Children scurried underfoot, briefly using Emma and Hook as obstructions to hide them before scampering away again, and Emma barely had a chance to take in much more of her surroundings before she was shoved roughly through an opening in one of the tents.

It took only a few moments to fasten them both to the centre post, sat back to back and with the option for only limited movement, hands trapped behind them. Hook’s eponymous appendage was taken from him despite to his protests, but before long the pair of them were left alone within the tent. Apparently the natives were confident enough in their bindings to leave them without supervision, and immediately Emma began tugging at them. 

She could feel Hook doing the same, and eventually he broke the silence. “I hope I haven’t offended you, Swan.”

_You don’t want to abandon him the way you were abandoned._

Emma chose not to respond, and continued twisting her wrists to try and break free. The rope was painfully tight, and felt like it only seemed to get tighter the more she struggled. 

“What’s he like, then? Your Henry?” 

This was the _last_ conversation she wanted to be having with Hook, so again she didn’t answer. Maybe if she chose not to engage him at all he’d get bored and stop trying to pull her into pointless discussions that were both unnecessary and uncomfortable. 

“You know, most men would take your silence as off-putting.” Emma groaned internally, sure he was just about to tell how unlike he was to _most men_. “But I love a challenge.” 

“Fine,” she groused, finally giving up on getting out of her bonds. If she still had David’s sword — ugh. “You wanna talk? Tell me how you got the hook. That’ll keep your mouth busy.” She was somewhat curious, had been since she realised he was a real person; if memory served Pan had fed his arm to a crocodile that would continue to pursue him for the rest of his life, but she hardly put much stock in the original telling of fairy-tales anymore. Especially after Gold had taken such great pleasure in telling her just how much of a villain Peter Pan was. 

She could hear the smirk in his voice without needed to see him. “I can think of plenty other, much more favourable ways…”

“Nevermind,” Emma groaned, “just — forget I asked.”

She didn’t need innuendo from somebody who by all accounts should be wearing breeches and a frilly white cravat. For a few moments Emma thought her remark had finally shut him up — apparently, it had only sobered him up. When he answered she was startled by the seriousness of his tone. 

“My hand, it was taken from me by a demon,” he continued briskly. “The Dark One. Rumpelstiltskin.”

At this point, she wondered if she should just stop being surprised. 

“Rumpelstiltskin?” It still felt odd aligning the malicious, conniving Mr. Gold she had slowly become acquainted with over the past year with the almost ridiculous name, the faint stirring of a story that might have been told at some point in her childhood. What was even odder was the violence of the reaction it incurred in Hook, she could feel the way he flinched just at the repetition of the name. 

“Aye,” he growled softly, “and I’ve sworn revenge on him ever since.” 

It was so goddamn _pantomime_. 

“So if you happen to stumble across a means by which to travel back to the Enchanted Forest, do inform me.”

“He isn’t there,” Emma said, without thinking. 

She felt the bonds on her wrist tighten as Hook stretched as far as they would allow, craning his neck to turn and look at her. “What?”

Realising she’d put herself on the spot, Emma tried to play it off as nonchalantly as possible. She didn’t mean to get involved in anything aside from rescuing her son. 

“Gold — Rumpelstiltskin,” she said, “he’s not in the Enchanted Forest, he’s in my world.”

“Is that so?”

“Yeah.”

Hook was silent for several long seconds. Emma turned her head, curious to try and gauge just what he was thinking. 

“Then my bearing changes, but my target remains the same. He’s a villain and I will kill him.” 

Emma sighed, rolling her eyes to look up at the pale canvas of the tent. She’d never been Gold’s biggest fan, and she didn’t doubt the loss of a hand was only the tip of the iceberg where his crimes were concerned, but she had the past couple of weeks to consider. Without Gold they’d never have known about Neverland. 

Against her better judgement, she let that slip to Hook. “He’s the one who told me Henry was here.” 

Hook’s response was swift and biting. “He’s a liar and a coward and has likely led you astray.” 

If only she could be so certain of the contrary. 

Before she could form some sort of reply the entrance of the tent was abruptly lifted, and one of the women she recognised from earlier stepped inside, dark eyes glinting in the dim light and the small axe hanging loosely at her side. 

“I demand to see Tiger Lily,” Hook snapped, his voice low and threatening. Gone, apparently, was the man who had teased her not ten minutes ago; she knew she’d have to be on her guard around him. “Take me to your princess, inform her your captive is the dread Captain Hook.” 

To Emma’s surprise, the woman immediately knelt by the post in the centre, and for a moment her heart lifted as she imagined her bonds about to loosen; only for her jaw to drop in protest when she realised it was only _Hook_ who was being released. 

“She is already expecting you, Captain.” 

Hook was hauled to his feet and pushed towards the entrance, pausing only to throw a smug grin over his shoulder in Emma’s direction. Immediately she lunged forward, testing the strength of the rope around her wrist, but found it tight as it had ever been. The last thing she saw before Hook was dragged out of sight was the arch of his eyebrow, a silent challenge. Then she was alone. 

_Goddamnit_. 

This wasn’t how she imagined this rescue mission going. 

Stranded and trapped in a native’s tent, her only apparent hope for escape dependent on _Captain Hook_ ; she’d definitely been in more promising situations. A wave of despair threatened to overwhelm her and she kicked angrily at the ground in an attempt to release some pent up frustration — it didn’t exactly help. 

She could still remember the last time she saw Henry; the last time she saw him properly. His awestruck expression as he lifted himself from the hospital bed, his eyes shining with all the hope and faith he had rallied behind from the first moment he met her. 

_The curse — I think you broke it!_

The look of surprised horror after Regina grabbed him from behind. That moment of paralysing fear.

Emma squeezed her eyes shut, willing the vision away. She wouldn’t let him down; not now, not _ever_. She’d been through too much to even consider letting anguish disable her — she had to find a way out.

No sooner had she renewed her determination when the tent flap suddenly lifted again, and Emma’s gaze flew to it. 

Another woman entered this time, although this one appeared entirely unfamiliar. Her frame, though smaller than the others Emma had come across, boasted equal strength, her olive skin bare from the shoulders and below her knees to show the powerful muscle underneath. Like the rest of the tribe her hair was dark and knitted with white feathers tipped with crimson and a bright, turquoise circlet rested around her crown. Although her eyes were dark they appeared sharp, inquisitive, appraising Emma in much the same way she was being appraised herself. 

“What is your name?” the woman asked, stepping cautiously inside with nimble footing, and Emma noticed she was carrying the satchel she had brought with her from Storybrooke. 

As far as she was concerned, however, this woman was one of the many keeping her from her son. She owed her nothing, certainly not an introduction. 

Clearly misinterpreting her silence, the woman continued. “You need not be afraid.”

“I’m not afraid,” Emma shot back, a little too quickly. The woman acknowledged her outburst with knowing eyes.

“The Panther’s Children say you have come to Neverland to find your son. Is this true?”

“It would be, if you’d let me go so I _can_.” 

The woman smiled, and part of it infuriated Emma. “You are very brave to have come all this way.” Just then she reached into the satchel, delicate hands taking care with the buckle and reaching slowly within. “Tell me, was this his?” Gently, the woman withdrew the storybook and held it up for Emma to see. 

The sight of it made Emma want to struggle against the bonds again, the idea of some stranger even _touching_ Henry’s book getting her riled up. She’d never been that attached to it, it was paper and leather and binding but it was _his_ and it was all she’d had for weeks by way of keeping Henry close. 

“Yeah,” she muttered, shoulders slumping as she realised the futility of escaping her ties. “It was his.”

“What is it?”

For a moment Emma could only meet the question with a quizzical look, unsure if the woman was being serious. Her expression demonstrated nothing but earnestness, and Emma’s bemusement was enough to let a modicum of her ire slip away in time to answer her. 

“It’s a storybook,” she said cautiously, as if suspecting the woman would already know. 

“I don’t understand.” 

With a creak the woman opened the book, running her fingers reverently over the worn pages. 

“Y’know, it’s a storybook,” Emma shrugged, unsure how to describe it. “You write down stories so you can read them again.”

Of course, apparently everything in that particular book was actually true. Although that was a _whole_ other kettle of fish that Emma didn’t even want to attempt to puzzle out.

“I have never seen a story written such as this,” the woman said, her tone demonstrative of the total marvel she found Henry’s storybook to be. There was something almost childlike about her wonder, something that reminded Emma of Henry and had her softening just a little bit towards her. “Such extraordinary drawings.” She touched the tip of a finger to one of Snow White and Prince Charming, embracing in front of an assault from the Evil Queen on their wedding day.

“Yeah, well. They’re no Quentin Blake but I guess they’re okay.”

The woman turned another few pages before lifting her sharp gaze to Emma’s. “Your son, he likes to hear stories?”

Emma shrugged. “Loves them. Never goes anywhere without that stupid book. He spends his every waking moment reading it to anyone who will listen.”

The woman smiled; a small, toothy thing. 

“In our village, stories are sacred. To tell a story is a great privilege, and to hear it an even greater one. They are rewards for hard work — lessons for living. There is magic in stories.”

Emma let out a breath of mirthless laughter. “You don’t have to convince me.” Not anymore, at least.

Finally, the woman closed the book with a small thud. 

“I hope you find your son, Emma Swan.” She slipped the storybook back into the bag before setting it down at the edge of the tent. “And read him stories when you do.”

In a breath she was gone, vanishing through the entrance of the tent.

It took Emma a couple of seconds to realise she had been addressed by name. 

She remained alone in the tent to contemplate the cryptic encounter for some indeterminate period; the satchel she’d brought the book in, although now visible, was still too far out of reach, even if she stretched her legs. The bonds around her wrists felt tighter than ever, and she resigned herself to staying put for the time being.

Irritating as it was, she could only hope Hook would pull through.

She needn’t have worried — before too long, another man had entered the tent and cut through the ties keeping her to the post before holding open the tent flap. Emma, rubbing her wrists as she went to try and soothe the burn, had to squint against the sudden onslaught of sunlight as she stepped outside. The heat from the sun immediately began to barrage down on her again, its position leading her to guess at it being somewhere in the early afternoon. 

She daren’t question whatever forces had brokered her freedom, only wanted to try and hunt down her father’s sword before getting back into the jungle and finding Pan. 

In the clearing ahead of her she spotted Hook, his cutlass once again at his side and his hook secured in place, the cut of his waistcoat offering her a not altogether too unpleasant view of his back. As if sensing her presence, he turned from the man he’d been speaking to and his eyes lit up triumphantly as they landed on her. 

“Ah, Swan!” he exclaimed. “Marvellous. Tiger Lily was apparently indisposed, but I have regardless managed to negotiate our release.” 

Before she could even form a response, David’s sword was being thrust back into her hands and her bag slung over her shoulder, the storybook tucked safely inside. 

“We will escort you to the edge of our camp,” said the man Hook had been speaking to. 

Emma threw him an irritated glance; after all this hassle she didn’t need an _escort_. “Thanks for nothing, assholes.” They’d waylaid her for far too long already. 

“Captain!”

She, Hook and the crew of accompanying tribesmen barely made it ten feet before another voice had called them to a halt. Emma turned, just about at the end of her rope and ready to give this person a piece of her mind, but she found herself confronted with the woman who had come into the tent earlier to interrogate her about Henry’s storybook. She was flanked by two other women, each with similar circlets placed on the top of their heads and shrewd, fierce eyes. Although Emma felt like she should say something, the woman’s attention was entirely on Hook. 

“Ah, princess,” Hook beamed. “A pleasure as always.” 

Was _this_ woman the princess Tiger Lily Hook had demanded to see? 

“I heard you were asking after me, ever the beggar.” Her entire demeanour had changed, even the timbre of her voice had hardened into one of authority. This was a woman who commanded the attention of an entire camp, not just a tent.

“Aye, well,” Hook rubbed his hand on the back of his neck almost sheepishly, “quite.”

The woman turned her dark eyes onto Emma, who opened her mouth to utter out some form of greeting but found herself cut off. 

“You must be Emma Swan.” 

Confused, Emma’s eyebrows knitted together in a frown — this woman already _knew_ her name, she’d said it in the tent not twenty minutes ago, but there was something about the way the woman’s eyes seemed to sparkle, some secret message there she felt she should be picking up on that gave her pause. 

“Uh,” she ended up saying, “yeah?”

“My Braves have told me of your plight,” the woman — Tiger Lily, if Hook was to believed — continued. In an almost imperceptible movement, the woman winked at her. “My father, the Panther, has found you worthy. Take this.” Instinctively Emma took what Tiger Lily was holding out to her, what appeared to be a vial full of dark liquid on the end of a string. She eyed it closely, unsure what she’d just been handed.

Hook, on the other hand, developed a sudden keen interest in it, and leaned in close to examine it. “Is that..?” 

“Squid ink,” Tiger Lily replied. “Powerful magic. It will serve you well for your impending duel with Pan.” 

There was something weighty about the moment that had Emma not voicing the question that immediately sprung to mind, mainly what the hell squid ink did, so she merely slipped it around her neck. She was sure she could interrogate Hook about it the moment they were outside the natives’ camp, and Emma was anxious to get out of their clutches before they changed their mind about whatever tentative freedom they had earned. 

“Thank you,” she said. Preparation for a duel with Pan. If she had her way, it wouldn’t come to that.

***

Try as Hook might to commit the location to memory, the moment the underbrush had been pushed back into place and the Braves had begun almost forcefully escorting he and Emma Swan to the outskirts of their territory, the Indian settlement seemed to disappear entirely. It was a frustrating thing, to let an opportunity like that vanish into the jungle, but Swan had been so antsy to get moving again (understandably so) that Hook simply hadn’t the willpower to try and battle against her. He was learning very quickly that this stranger from another land boasted a force to be reckoned with. Not to mention she’d somehow earnt Tiger Lily’s approval — the squid ink she’d been gifted rested temptingly against her breastbone, and he’d found his eyes straying to it on more than one occasion. 

Squid ink would be the perfect tool to use against the Dark One.

That said, a petty part of him would enjoy its use on Him, if only for revenge against the centuries of exploitation he and his crew had been forced to endure. 

Still — the notion of actually helping this woman, this Swan, had crossed his mind more than once while within the camp, but each time he had arrived at the same conclusion. It was simply too dangerous to risk a war with Pan, not when his only way off this accursed island would surely lie with him, whenever fortune favoured him enough for it to come about. So once the warriors had left them at the boundary to the tribal territory and they were alone once more, Hook was the first to break the silence between the pair of them. 

“And this, my lady Swan, is where we must part company.” 

A myriad of emotions seemed to flicker across her face in a singular unguarded second — surprise, confusion, hurt. He daren’t dwell on the source of any of them. He’d lived a hundred lifetimes where all he offered the good was disappointment, and one more disenchanted heart to add to the masses held no bearing against his aged soul.

“You’re not going to help me?” Hook spread his hand and hook, shrugging as nonchalantly as he could manage. She shouldn’t have expected anything from him. Whatever dispirited look he had spotted was gone in moments, replaced by hardness and an underlying frustration. “Fine, whatever,” she snapped. “I’ve lost enough time as it is.” 

Hook’s eyes rolled skyward, yet he felt compelled to somewhat defend himself to this woman before she disappeared into the undergrowth never to be seen again. 

“Look.” He watched as her hand gripped the handle of her longsword tighter. “Pan likely already knows you’re here. He and I have,” he waved his hook, searching for the right word, “an arrangement. Allying myself against him would be unwise.”

Emma Swan scowled, her jade eyes glowering at him beneath the darkened curve of her brow. Then they widened almost imperceptibly, and he sensed a change in the air. Almost fearing an assault Hook’s posture immediately straightened, eyeing the woman warily. 

“What if I had a way off the island?”

That got Hook’s attention. 

“I’m listening.” 

“A portal,” she continued, “magic. I could get you to my world, to Rumpelstiltskin. Then you could exact your revenge.” 

Hook hesitated, musing over her proposal. He arched an eyebrow. “I thought Rumpelstiltskin was your ally?” She’d implied as much back in the tipi. 

“Hardly,” Swan scoffed. Hook was considering her offer very seriously — the only reason he’d stuck so closely to Pan for so long was because he was certain it would be the only way out of Neverland, that eventually He might decide his crew had done enough and permit them to leave for anything other than supply runs. So he could get to Rumpelstiltskin and scourge the realms of such a villain. 

If he had his own way off the island, however? He wouldn’t need Pan at all. 

“Do we have a deal?” Emma Swan pressed. 

“How do I know you even possess such magic?”

Swan’s reply was swift and sure. “I got here, didn’t I?”

The barest of smirks teased at the edge of Hook’s mouth. “Point taken.” He deliberated for only a few moments more, tapping a fingernail against his hook, before he reached the conclusion he’d known he would from the off. What Emma Swan was offering was more than he could hope for, but it was greater than that — there was something undoubtedly admirable in her countenance, she had made it this far unaided, and to even enter Pan’s land as a mother attempting to reclaim her child was astounding in and of itself. Most didn’t make it that far.

He was intrigued by her, he’d be the first to admit it. Intrigued enough to warrant a closer inspection at the very least. 

“Alright, Emma Swan,” he conceded, “we have an agreement. I shall aid you in your quest to find your son, and in return you will give me the means to travel to your land.” 

Triumph lifted Swan’s mouth into a humourless smile. “Fine.” 

The backdrop to the beginning of their tentative alliance consisted only of the distant noises of the jungle, the rustle of pines scented with magic and the chirp of insects scurrying underfoot. Neverland had always been alive, but never before had it whispered to Hook with such anticipation, such _trepidation_. Even the powerful trunks overhead seemed bent forward to listen for the outcome. He had little doubt they’d reveal all to Pan in good time.

He offered his hand between them neutrally. 

“Shake on it?”

Swan appeared sceptical, glaring at his hand with all the distrust he could feel emanating from her every pore. In return he raised his eyebrows and wiggled his fingers playfully. 

Finally, with a roll of her eyes, she accepted. The grip of her hand against his was strong, her fingertips clenching almost painfully over his. He almost made a wisecrack about wanting to keep his one remaining hand in working condition but something about the steeliness of her gaze stopped him. Captured him, almost. 

“Cross me and you’ll regret it,” she bit out. 

“Funny,” Hook smirked in response, despite the mirthless tone of his voice. “I was about to say the same thing.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and number three! again, a longer delay than I wanted, but a huge thank you to everybody leaving comments and kudos - you guys are the best. <3 I'd love to hear what you thought!

If Emma had thought the heat would lessen the nearer Neverland drew to dusk, she was sorely mistaken. As the sun crawled across the sky and the pair of them continued to trudge through the jungle, the humidity levels seemed only to increase, making her head feel stuffy and her mood increasingly irritated the farther they walked. To make matters worse, the cacophony of ominous noises only grew louder as the day wore on, and left a lead weight of unease in the pit of her stomach. Her entire life she had only ever lived in cities, the patter and snaps of street rats the closest she’d gotten to wildlife until that goddamn wolf had run her off the road at the edge of Storybrooke so many months ago. Here, though, the forest had a life of its own. It practically chattered, anything from the muted and melodious to the sharp screeches of creatures she hoped were prowling miles away from where they were.

The entire island hummed with energy — with magic, although it still chagrined her to admit it. A modicum of the courage she usually took from her firm grasp of the hilt of David’s sword had slipped away with the dancing orange of early sunset across the sky, the weight of it finally beginning to settle and make her arms ache from the effort of keeping it aloft. Hook, irritatingly adapted to the island, carried his in a handy scabbard at his side. In her rush to get to Neverland, Emma hadn’t thought to bring one herself. 

The only mercy was that for the last hour or so, Hook had grown silent. On the few occasions she had stolen a sideways glance at him he appeared deep in thought, dark eyes scouring the jungle shrewd and alert. Like an animal ready to pounce at any moment. Although their tentative peace lay between them, it still set her on edge to see him like that. His hook gleamed awfully at his side.

After forming their cautious alliance, he had suggested they return to his ship to regroup and find out if his crew had made any recent observations of Pan’s newest recruits. Emma had refused — she’d already lost most of the day, and she couldn’t think of a worse idea than following Hook into what, for all she knew, could be little more than a lion’s den. Her decision had irritated him, but he’d agreed to show her the last place Pan and his troop had been sighted. So far, it was the best lead they had.

“So,” Hook began loudly, snapping the silence between them like loosening an arrow. Apparently, her time for small mercies was up. “Tell me about this magic you possess. How did you come to be in Neverland?” His choice of conversation topic didn’t exactly thrill her, especially since she’d straight up lied to him about having an exit strategy sorted out. Jefferson’s hat had disappeared with Regina, and fuck knew where she was now. “A magic bean, perhaps?”

“A _what?_ ” Emma couldn’t hold back her snort of laughter, the suggestion so outlandish to her she figured he must have been joking. Hook only stared back at her evenly, eyebrow arched and looking far less amused. She supposed in a world with magic, something as crazy as a magic bean wasn’t so crazy at all. “No, not a — a bean,” she continued. “It’s a hat, it makes this, uh, purple vortex… thing,” she swallowed as Hook’s eyebrow inched closer to his hairline, “and you jump through.”

Hook left her sentence to mince in the air for long enough for her ears to redden, before merely turning his eyes skyward. 

“You’re right, that’s far less ludicrous than a magic bean.”

Emma grimaced. “Shut up.” 

“Show it to me,” he continued, lifting a few low hanging branches to allow them to pass. It wasn’t a request so much as a demand. A demand for something Emma didn’t _have_. 

“What, so you can take off with it yourself before I get Henry back?” She fixed him with a glare. “I don’t think so.” 

Hook stepped in front of her abruptly, blocking her path before she could scoot around him. He wore a determined expression — something that suggested danger lay in turning her back on it. From this close she could see his eyes weren’t solely blue, but flecked with silver towards the centre of the iris. 

“Try something new, darling,” he growled. “It’s called trust.” 

Emma met his stare evenly. “You must be used to people not trusting you.”

“Ah,” he threw up his hand to the canopy in a faux show of forgetfulness. “The pirate thing.” Emma rolled her eyes and pushed past him, and he let her. “As much as I enjoy adhering to your stereotype, Swan, if you and I are to be of any use to each other at least a _modicum_ of mutual confidence must occur.” 

“Do you _deliberately_ use like fifty words where five will do, or is it involuntary?” 

“Wait —” he started, but it wasn’t enough of a warning for the sensation of cold steel curling around her upper arm, and Emma was reacting entirely on instinct when she whirled around with David’s sword thrashing. Fortunately (or unfortunately, Emma wasn’t so sure), Hook’s reflexes were just as fast, and his free hand shot out to keep her wrist suspended above her head, and not swinging any heavy weaponry into the skulls of infuriating pirates. Hook’s eyes flickered upward to the sword and back down to her, looking for all the world like his mind had only just caught on to their new position, and it startled him. “You _are_ a delight, aren’t you?”

Roughly, Emma wrenched herself away. “Don’t freaking _hook_ me without some warning, god!” 

She could see the tic in his jaw twitch. “I only meant to tell you to watch your step. We’re nearing the site of Pan’s most recent encampment — chances are he’s long gone by now, but perhaps we can find something of use.” He set off again, this time at a far slower pace than before. “Be wary of traps.” 

Emma merely grunted in response, dropping her eyes to the ground and being careful to only step where he did; as infuriating as he was, she wasn’t about to dispute a veteran of the island. Between them only one had ever been face to face with Pan, and it certainly wasn’t her. 

Before long, the unending cluster of jungle opened out into a clearing, but the thick foliage on all sides still cast it in gloomy, mossy shades. It was unmistakably a campsite, or it had been, with discarded wooden items littering the space — bowls, carved sticks she could only assume had been sharpened into weaponry, and various pieces of dirtied fabric. Barrels and larger rocks had been pushed into a circle around the remains of a fire, white ash long since covered with dust and by now surely cold, and large, unlit bamboo torches had been constructed around the perimeter. The entire effect was a crude one, and she tried to picture younger boys living in the wild space. It wasn’t too hard. 

Henry, on the other hand? She couldn’t see it. 

Emma stepped out into the clearing, scanning for any sign of her son as Hook moved to the edges, staring out into the jungle for potential threats. Per his warning she kept herself cautious, David’s sword at her side ready to spring up at a moment’s notice, but all she could make out in the rapidly fading light was dirt and the barest remnants of life. 

“There,” Hook said quietly, “it’s as I suspected. Long gone. There are a few campsites like these across the island, the Lost Ones alternate between them and Pan’s compound at random.” There was a clatter as he kicked what resembled a cluster of arrows into the brush. “They know how to make themselves difficult to track.”

She was just about ready to tell Hook they should keep moving, when something finally caught her eye. 

In seconds she was back by the charcoal and singed wood of the fire, kneeling and lifting a scrap of fabric from beside the ash. She’d know it anywhere. Henry’s midnight blue dressing gown. Although the edges were covered in patches of earth, the colour was unmistakable — as well as his name neatly embroidered in red underneath the collar.

“This is his,” she called over to Hook, “he was here. He _is_ here.” 

Relief almost overwhelmed her, relief from a concern she’d barely been able to consider since this whole Neverland business began; that he might not be there. That Gold might’ve lied, sent them on a wild goose chase for some twisted, horrific practical joke while her son’s life might be in the balance. But all that didn’t matter now. Henry was in Neverland, and she was a step closer to bringing him home. 

“You say that like it’s good news, Swan,” Hook muttered darkly. “He’s with Pan now.”

As if on cue, the hum of the jungle grew louder, animals screeching and howling up into the sunset at a pitch which sent shivers down her spine. It was only as she watched Hook freeze, his hand instinctively flying to the hilt of his sword that she realised the crows and hollers might not belong to creatures of the forest, and they were getting closer. 

“Is that —?” She daren’t even hope. 

“The Lost Ones,” Hook confirmed. “We must find shelter, quickly!” To her complete astonishment, he started darting for the tree line in the opposite direction to the ever-growing clamour.

Emma was agape. “Are you kidding?” she blustered. “We have to follow them! Henry might be there!”

“Swan, listen to me when I say that charging into a confrontation with those beasts without a shred of forethought will be the last thing you ever do.” Before she could respond he had stalked back to her side and was trying to usher her into following him. “There could be any number of them in that pack, they could be anything from a scouting party to an entire garrison, and while I’m thrilled your boy has conveniently left some pretty garments for you to find, I for one do not intend to risk life and limb without some guarantee he’ll definitely be among them!”

“But we _have_ to —”

“You wanted my help, do you intend to heed it or do you intend to die?”

After a split-second of indecision, Emma allowed him to steer them to the tree cover, but she made it clear she wasn’t pleased about it. Once there, he dragged her into the bush of some unfamiliar white flower, slashing a slit with his hook so they could still observe the clearing. Meanwhile the cries of the Lost Boys grew louder, and there was something distinctly animalistic about it that made the idea of them all the more haunting. With a crow they burst through the undergrowth, darting about in jagged lines and whacking sticks together to add to the clamour. It took Emma a moment to realise they were dancing — or giving a strange approximation of it. 

Most were dressed in dark brown cloaks, hoods pulled up or strange fabrics tied over their eyes, obscuring their faces from view. Almost all were armed with some manner of club or bow, and yips and howls tore from their mouths and were carried up into the pale pink sky. Emma’s heart thudded against her ribcage, scanning the boys dancing around the fire for one of a familiar build, but just as suddenly as they’d appeared the Lost Boys were vanishing into the trees, taking their cries with them.

Only one slowed his pace, turning back into the clearing and instinctively Emma leant away from their slit, fearful of being spotted, and could feel Hook doing the same. She needn’t have worried. What caught the boy’s eye was something sitting close to the fire, and as he knelt down she realised it was Henry’s dressing gown; she’d abandoned it in her haste to find cover. The boy lifted it and pushed back his hood and a strangled cry lurched from Emma’s throat. 

_Henry._

Hook caught on fast. “Emma, wait —”

She barely even heard him. She leapt from their hiding place and out of range for his attempt to haul her back — but neither him nor curses or goddamn _dragons_ could have stopped her from reaching her son, not at all. 

Henry jerked back in surprise once she emerged from the undergrowth, before his expression morphed into one of joy. “ _Mom!_ ” 

He was racing toward her with equal speed and they collided near the edge of the stone circle, Emma dropping to her knees so she could crush him to her, David’s sword clattering somewhere to her right and his arms flying around her neck in return. God, when she noticed he felt slightly taller in her grip she realised just how long it had been since she’d seen him, held him. Weeks. The last time she’d laid eyes on him he’d been in a hospital gown, marvelling at the break of the curse, until his features had contorted with surprise and terror as Regina appeared in a puff of smoke and grabbed him from behind.

But now he was here, and she had him. He was safe. “Oh god, you’re okay, I’ve got you,” she knew tears were beginning to dribble down her cheeks but she was so relieved she could scream. Her hands were on his shoulders, his cheeks, in his hair, trying to reassure herself that he was _real_. That he was unharmed. “Are you alright? Are you hurt?”

“I’m fine,” he chirped, and he was grinning so wide she thought his face might crack. “I’m okay, I — what are you doing here?” 

The question was so startling, she’d thought it would’ve been obvious, that it jerked her into really _looking_ at her son for the first time. His hair was ruffled, face covered in smears of dirt and a small bruise was just turning purple on the underside of his jaw. Instead of the pyjamas she’d been expecting, he was dressed in brown woollen fabrics and a leather jerkin, some hastily stitched together boots and the long cloak she had seen on some of the other Lost Boys. Alarmingly, he didn’t look quite — he didn’t look like her Henry. No coat, no scarf (although that was back in Storybrooke at Regina’s mansion), no huge backpack. It was like he’d been there for a few weeks rather than just a day. Although, hadn’t Hook said something about time in Neverland passing differently to her world? Just how long had it been for him?

He looked like a character from his storybook. 

She shoved the thought away as she stood. “I’m here to rescue you!” Grabbing his hand, she started pulling him back towards where Hook was still hiding. “C’mon, we don’t have much time, we’ll have to go before they —” Her movements were met with resistance, and she turned only to realise Henry had dug his heels in, and was trying to pull away. Her heart shuddered to a halt. “Henry?”

“I…” He bit his lip, throwing a glance back the way he’d come. “I can’t.” 

“Of course you can,” Emma insisted. “Let’s go!” When he continued to hesitate, she realised he must be fearful of Pan discovering his escape — or perhaps he _couldn’t_ escape? “Is it magic? Like a curse? It’s okay kid, we can break it.” She was getting pretty damn good at that now. 

Henry shook his head. “It’s not, it’s… it’s _you_. I have to stay.” 

The sudden notion of a rescue being unwelcome only then crossed her mind, and it horrified her. He’d been with Regina for _weeks_ on his own, who knew what lies she’d been feeding him about her. Gold said he could only have been lured to Neverland if he was feeling unloved and alone — perhaps he didn’t think she wanted him anymore. The idea of it made her want to vomit; she loved this kid so damn much. She just hoped she was wrong. 

“What are you talking about?”

Henry looked up at her with wide eyes. “You’ll never be happy while I’m around, my mom will never let you. She’ll _always_ be there, you’ll always be fighting over me.” 

Emma frowned, not sure what he was trying to say. “Henry, I don’t think —”

“Don’t you _see?_ ” he begged, in that same imploring tone he had used when he wanted her so desperately to believe in knights and magic and curses. “You broke the curse, this is your happy ending — you finally get to be with your parents!” Emma shook her head furiously, she couldn’t see any so-called happiness without him, not anymore. “And if I’m not there then Regina will never bother you again. I _have_ to do what you did for me.” 

_Don’t you dare._

“I have to give you your best chance.” 

_No._

She wasn’t about to let her son talk himself out of a home. 

“No,” she said firmly, fiercely, “ _no._ You’re coming with me.” She bent to pick him up and sling him over her shoulder if she had to, but Henry recoiled so violently from the action that she stopped in astonishment. 

“ _Don’t!_ ” he yelped, hurt flickering across his features. “Don’t treat me like _she_ did. I’m a person and I can make my own choices — and I’m choosing to be _here_. Please?”

A dull ache settled in her chest, pulsing to the rate of her heartbeat slamming against her chest; this wasn’t how it was supposed to go, he was supposed to _want_ to come home with her, he was supposed to need to be rescued and they were finally going to be together. A significant part of her still wanted to just carry him the whole way back to Storybrooke if she had to, but the boy was right — if the last few months had taught her anything, it was that she wanted to be _nothing_ like Regina. Not the kind of mother who would torment her son and send him off to therapy or kidnap him for weeks at a time. Maybe Regina really did love Henry, her vulnerability just two days earlier once she realised he was gone suggested as much, but that didn’t mean she gave that love in the way it should be given.

Emma knelt back down to face Henry, brushing her hand over the shell of his cheek and wiping an errant tear of his own that had begun to slid down. She was frighteningly aware that this might be the last time she saw him; but how could she make him want to come back, how could she put it into words that would get through to him? 

“But what about…” She took a shuddering breath. “What about _your_ happy ending, Henry?” 

“I can be happy here,” Henry assured her, swallowing as his eyes flickered up into the trees, almost as if he were scanning for something. “I think. Peter is… Peter’s scary, and I’m the smallest boy but we play games all day and no one tells us what to do and we’re — free.” Emma couldn’t stop shaking her head, willing him to just stop. To be happy with her. But some place like Neverland had to feel incredible after weeks of nothing but the inside of Regina’s mansion. “Please don’t worry about me,” he continued gently, offering a weak smile. “The hero _always_ has to make the hard choices.” 

He stepped forward and tumbled back into her arms, kissing her once on the cheek as he held her like it would be the last time. Emma couldn’t stop a sob from shaking her shoulders. 

“Mom,” he whispered into her ear, “I’m going to save magic.” 

That sentence sent an icy chill through her blood.

It didn’t sound right.

She pulled away, trying to look him in the eye through the tears that had amassed there, furiously blinking them away. “What did you say?”

His smile was soft, his eyes awestruck, and he looked a thousand miles away. Emma shook his shoulders gently and his head dropped back from the tree canopy down to meet her gaze. For a moment she lost him, but he slid back into place as quickly as he’d vanished.

“I’ll miss you,” he said, and he sounded about as miserable as she felt. “But I’m going to be brave. Just like you. I love you, Mom.”

He wouldn’t let her bring him home. She was ready for the earth to crack, for lightning to strike; she just couldn’t imagine a life she was leading that he wasn’t in, but he wasn’t giving her that choice. It was _his_ choice, and after years of letting others make decisions before her as she grew up, Emma wasn’t about to start forcing him to do a thing. 

She hugged him one more time and he let her, trying to memorize the feel of him against her. The earthy scent of his clothing, the curve of his mouth when he laughed. 

“I love you too, Henry.” 

And then he was tugging himself away and although she was screaming for her arms to reach out and grab him back, she merely watched as he picked up the discarded dressing gown and lifted his hood. With a final pained look back at her, he disappeared into the jungle. 

There was no chance of holding back the overwhelming tide of sadness after that. 

***

Hook felt embarrassed to have witnessed the entire exchange. 

It was bad form, utterly reprimandable form, but although he had tried to give the mother and son reunion some privacy, it was with a morbid fascination that he daren’t tear himself away the moment it started to turn south. He couldn’t help it. Never had a mother made it so far inland in an attempt to reclaim a Lost One. In fact, Hook had been around the Lost Ones for so many centuries that he scarcely even thought of them as boys anymore, just beasts in the bodies of youth. It was hard to remember they all possessed a mother who might care for them as Emma Swan did for this Henry, and it was humbling to have been confronted with such a stark reminder. 

For whatever reason, the boy believed it would be best if he were left with Pan. The talk of curses and happy endings went entirely over Hook’s head, but the gist of it wasn’t difficult to understand — and if the way Emma had crumpled the moment the boy vanished into the trees it was hardly the reaction she had been expecting either. Privately, Hook suspected Pan had orchestrated the encounter in order to deter her, although he couldn’t prove it. Scarcely anything happened on the island without His knowing about it, and it was in his interests for the boy to tell his mother to leave himself. As determined as he’s seen her to be, whose request would she heed bar his?

He wrested with himself as to whether to approach her, but in the end his sense of self-preservation overwhelmed his gentlemanly tendencies; it was dangerous to stay in one place so near to darkness, let alone one of Pan’s travelling camps. As he trod across the clearing he kept his steps cautious, as if approaching a wounded animal, and from the trembling of her shoulders and what he’d just witnessed, well. She might well be. “Swan?” She didn’t appear to hear him. 

Eventually he knelt down beside her, feeling awkward enough as it was without her noticing, and gently laid a hand on her shoulder to get her attention. She immediately jerked away from the contact and he tried not to be too offended when she looked up at him with her jade eyes shining, the rims of her eyes stained red and bloodshot. 

“Are you… alright?” She clearly wasn’t, but saying anything else felt… wholly insensitive. 

She sniffed but made a show of brushing it off, wiping her eyes with each hand.

“I thought convincing him to come home would be the easy part.”

Something about the way her voice quivered stung somewhere in a place he hadn’t touched for centuries.

“Pan has already poisoned his mind,” he murmured, reaching into the pocket of his vest and emerging with a black handkerchief. She ignored him when he offered it to her and stood up, brushing the dirt from the knees of her tight-clinging trousers. He followed soon after and stuffed the handkerchief back into his pocket. “You have to understand, most of the Lost Ones are… corrupted by Pan. Maybe they were boys once, but it takes a rare soul to resist Pan’s influence.” 

Baelfire. Baelfire did. 

Some abrupt, surging sense of pride coursed through him, and for a moment he was able to forget that he was the one who signed the boy away to Pan to start with. 

“Henry will,” Emma said fiercely, and with that glint in her eye he was prepared to believe her. “He’s good. And he’s kind. And he’s only staying because he thinks it’s what’s best for us.” Her head dropped once more and Hook averted his eyes. Affording her emotion some privacy was the least he could do. 

“So, what happens now?” he queried. 

“Honestly?” Emma squinted out into the ever-darkening jungle, the light from the paling sky almost gone. “I don’t know. If he doesn’t want to be rescued, then…” She tapered off, lifting her arms in the barest approximation of a shrug before bending to retrieve her longsword. 

The idea of this woman giving up did not settle comfortably with Hook, and he couldn’t quite distinguish the cause. The chances of his escape from Neverland undoubtedly vanished without the prospect of rescuing the boy, yes, but it was more than that. Perhaps it was the tempting possibility of Pan _losing_ for once, of a boy escaping his clutches in the same way he prayed that Baelfire had.

Perhaps it was because he had once been in this position, given the opportunity to give a boy a home, and he’d given up at the earliest resistance from the boy in question. 

_Thank you, for reminding me what I’m all about. Killing your father._

He could at least prevent another from making the same mistake.

“If your boy is truly as strong as you say,” he found himself saying, hooking his hand on his belt as he turned back to her, “then I’d wager all is not lost. All you have to do is convince him to return before Pan can win him over completely.”

Emma watched him curiously, and Hook could almost pinpoint the exact moment she decided to consider him seriously — to him, at least, she was an open book. 

She raised an eyebrow as she regarded him. “And how do you propose I do that?”

“Simple,” Hook continued, mirroring the action. “A Lost One can hardly become _lost_ if his mother is still running around, can he?” This Emma conceded with a tilt of her head. “These boys believe they are alone, that Pan is all they have. Just continue to show him that isn’t the case.”

After a long moment she nodded, but couldn’t seem to find the words. In the growing dark, the shadow of the tree canopy bending overhead reminded him of the importance of moving on from this place. 

“Come back to the Jolly Roger,” Hook suggested, and once she immediately stiffened he held up hook and hand in a placating gesture. “You must rest, and there are far greater dangers than my crew inland.” She continued to hesitate, but he insisted. “Look at me, Swan — have I told you a lie?”

“Not that I know of.”

“I just want to help.”

It was probably the increasingly ominous sounds rising from the jungle rather than his countenance that finally convinced her, but Hook didn’t care either way. 

***

There was something reassuring about being back on the deck of the Jolly Roger. Hook had always felt far steadier with the ground swaying beneath his feet, tilting and creaking with the lap of the waves against the hull, and the brine of the air cutting sharply through his lungs and making him invincible. This was home. No matter the realm to which he embarked, the sea would always be the same. A companion and a god, to be loved and feared in equal measure. To be respected. Nobody dared curse the sea when they were trapped within a tempest, and in Hook’s opinion it should be no different in calmer waters. 

He had convinced Emma to take lodging in his quarters, the lock she could secure from the inside a key selling point — at least this way he could be certain she wouldn’t be disturbed by his crew. Although he respected each of them in their own regard, they were as red-blooded as any other man and they hadn’t laid eyes on a woman for centuries. Not one who wasn’t sure to scalp them for any trouble, like the Braves, in any case. Although, over the short time he had become acquainted with Emma, Hook wasn’t entirely convinced she wouldn’t do the same given the chance. 

Emma Swan could hold her own, certainly, but the lock on the door did wonders for setting Hook’s mind at ease. He wouldn’t stand for any such cruelty on his ship. It was better temptation lay far out of reach. 

Starkey and Smee had merely raised their eyebrows when Hook had led Emma aboard, but his vehement glare dared them to make any remark to give him an excuse to swing his hook. Over the course of the trek back to shore he had reconvinced himself that his moment of encouragement after Emma’s encounter with the boy had been purely out of self-interest. He needed Emma Swan to retrieve her son so she could give him the means to travel to her land and destroy Rumpelstiltskin, it was as simple as that. Baelfire had not a jot to do with it. Nor did Emma Swan’s pretty jade eyes. 

Only a skeleton crew had been left above deck in the midnight air, the rest having moved to their quarters to catch a few hours’ sleep before being woken for their respective watches. Hook almost preferred the twilight; there were fewer sailors milling about to disturb him, and there was nothing quite like the slip of velvet moonlight among the waves for soothing a troubled mind. 

On this particular night, however, he wasn’t meant to tread the decks alone. 

“Lovely evening, isn’t it, Captain?”

By now it shouldn’t have surprised him, but he still felt that lurch of fear in his gut at having been caught unguarded. It was rare that Pan strayed out into Neverland’s waters, usually preferring to send his lackeys, but it was far from the first time he had ventured onto the deck of the Jolly Roger. 

Hook turned from the wheel to face him finding him perched on the railing at the stern of the quarterdeck, youthful face twisted into his customary smirk, although his hazel eyes were hard and unyielding.

Instinctively, his hand inched closer to his belt to be nearer to his cutlass. 

“Enchanting,” he replied dryly, although he meant it. The starlight glittered across the waves in Neverland unlike any other realm. Although the boy wonder was unlikely to be there for the sight of it. “What can I do for you, Pan?” 

The boy cocked his head to the side, regarding Hook carefully. “I’ve been a good friend to you, haven’t I?” Hook’s immediate response died on his tongue, not wishing to aggravate the boy; but _friend_ was far from the word he would use to describe Peter Pan. “I welcomed you to my island, I let you sail in my waters. Eat from crop that grows on _my_ land. I do all this for you, do I not?”

Hook clenched his jaw, but decided to play along. “You do.”

He must have blinked, for Pan was suddenly gone from the railing, his voice low and dangerous at his ear instead.

“Then why do you insist on being such a _bad_ friend to me?”

The wind picked up, fluttering through the main sail with a sudden violence that startled the sailor in the crow’s nest. Hook, by now used to the rising and falling of Pan’s temper and the tempestuous conditions it usually brought at sea, merely feigned ignorance. 

He spun around and smiled tightly at the boy, raising his eyebrow. “I don’t know what you mean.” 

Pan’s answering grin was cold, his dark eyes lifeless and shrewd. “Don’t be coy, Killian. I know about the mother you’re hiding below deck.” 

Despite his bravado, a jolt of fear seared through him. Of course he’d known Pan would find out, Neverland whispered hushed secrets on the breeze and eventually carried them all to its king, he just hadn’t realised it would be this soon. Undoubtedly he knew about Emma’s meeting with Henry that day as well. Just how much danger he could place himself and his entire crew in by allying himself against the master of the island was only now just becoming clear, with Emma Swan far below deck and unable to defend herself. 

His decision today was reckless, and now he may well be paying the ultimate price. 

Instinctively he began marking things out on the quarterdeck he could use as weapons, provided Pan make his conventional ones disappear; he wouldn’t be going down without a fight. 

Hook arched an eyebrow. “Then why am I still alive?” 

In a second Pan was gone again, this time resting upon a carronade on the starboard side. 

“Because I’m in a good mood,” he remarked, “I’ve had a brilliant few days. Played lots of games, made some new friends.” His eyebrows knitted together as he feigned deep thought; by now Hook was more than familiar with the pantomime of his every dialogue. Pan liked to play with his food. “One in particular, actually, you might know. His name is Henry, and he’s become a _very_ close, personal friend.” Pan nodded gravely, then abruptly he was at Hook’s side again. “I’d go as far to say I’d be _devastated_ to lose him.” 

Hook swallowed, he could see where this was going. “I see.”

“Convince Emma Swan to leave the island.” 

Well, at least they were done playing games.

Hook raised a hand in half a shrug. “She won’t go without her son.” No thanks to him, at least. 

“She did once before,” Pan shot back, and his expression lit up once he registered Hook’s surprise. “Failed to mention that, did she? Understandable. Far be it you to look for anything more beyond a pretty face.” He knew Pan was baiting him, so he refused to rise to it. “Alright,” he continued, and he was behind the wheel now. “How about we make it a deal instead? Convince Emma Swan to leave Neverland and I’ll give you what you want most.” 

“And what would that be?”

“Passage off the island,” Pan gave the wheel and experimental spin, and the Jolly Roger groaned to accommodate him. “Permanently.” 

Hook had just barely prevented himself from lurching forward and ripping the little bastard away from the helm, from the wheel that _Liam_ had touched, to the extent that he didn’t even immediately register what Pan was offering. He’d just about convinced himself that the boy might never let them go — Emma Swan must be rattling his cage indeed. 

Hook merely shrugged. “Perhaps I already have a way off the island.” 

“Oh yes,” Pan snapped his fingers as if he were berating himself for his forgetfulness, “of course.” He vanished and the wheel was left spinning, so Hook immediately clunked it to a stop with his hook, righting the old girl as smoothly as he could. “And just where _is_ this magic hat Emma keeps telling you about?” 

It had been just a spark of doubt lingering at the corner of his mind, but Pan always knew just how to find those and fan them until they roared to life. Despite his best efforts, suspicion of the woman asleep in his cabin reared its ugly head, although he tried to hold it back from Pan. He couldn’t give an inch, or the boy would have him leagues under the sea. 

Pan began prowling the quarterdeck, stepping slowly around him like a cat stalking its prey. “We’ve known each other for a long time, Killian. Why jeopardise a perfectly good working relationship on a stranger’s word alone?” The boy shrugged, as if it were entirely unfathomable to trust another over his smarmy little grin. “I’m no grown-up, but that sounds like pretty poor business sense.”

The worst of it was that it _did_. 

He’d known Emma Swan for less than a day, and already she’d held a sword at his throat, got him captured by the natives, nearly led him into a pack of Lost Ones and even ousted him from his quarters (admittedly, the last was certainly his own fault). He’d let it all happen, even welcomed her into his home, and on what grounds? Her warm and earnest demeanour? The proof she even _possessed_ the magic to get him where he needed to go? 

_His instincts,_ Liam would have said. _You always were a good judge of character._

Instinct wouldn’t win him his revenge. 

“So,” he started slowly, “you’re saying if I can persuade her to depart without her son, you’ll finally permit us to leave?”

Pan smirked, his eyes glinting like jet in the moonlight. “I’ll even make sure you get to the Land Without Magic unscathed. That is where you’re intending to go, isn’t it?”

It certainly was. 

“And what if I _don’t_ take your offer?” Hook enquired; partly to see if he could get a rise out of the boy, and partly to see just how desperate he really was to be rid of Emma Swan. Both interminably useful. 

In seconds, the boy was at his side again, this time with a hand curled around his upper arm and his hot breath against his ear. 

“I’m sure you remember what happened last time you didn’t listen to me.”

 _All magic comes with a price. Don’t leave the island unless you’re willing to pay it._

The grip on his arm was released as soon as it arrived, and in a remarkable show of speed Pan had lifted his flask from its position on its belt and held it up to him. “Have a drink, Captain. You know it always helps you think.” Hook had barely closed his fingers around it before Pan had entirely disappeared, the only whisper of his presence another quivering of the main sail, protesting as it was suddenly pulled taut despite the foresail not having moved.

Hook popped the cork on the top of the rum bottle with his teeth, before taking a generous swig as he paced slowly down from the quarterdeck, nodding briefly at the sailor on watch as he crossed to the prow. Once there he leant on the railing, keeping himself facing as far forward as he could around the bowsprit, to let the taste of the ocean spray hit the back of his throat. The island lay in front of him, the distant crest of Dead Man’s Peak disappearing into the clouds, mist shrouding most of the jungle from view. Escape from this accursed place had always felt farther than he could grasp, but not tonight. 

Tonight it was tangible, he could practically pluck it right from the stars. He swallowed another gulp of rum; it did always help him think, but so did the sea. 

Out in the blustery midnight air with the moon his only witness, Hook had a lot to be thinking about.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you can find me on tumblr! come say hi @ captainjayharkness


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